Not My World Anymore
by Pixie Star Fire
Summary: Clarissa Irvingson was just supposed to go on a nice vacation to DC. Well, then France happened. Now she is seeing all of the Hetalia characters. They are supposed to just be a anime, right? Is she even in her world anymore? ON HIATUS
1. Drawing at the Lincoln Memorial

**Hi! This is my first attempt at Hetalia fanfiction, so I hope that you enjoy it!**

Clarisse Irvingson glanced up at the Lincoln Monument building, glistening in the light of the sunrise, and sighed. When her parents had told her that she was getting a vacation for her seventeenth birthday, she had imagined soft sand and warm sunlight, some tropical beach or Paris.

Nope. No such luck, she had been placed on a stuffy, smelly bus in a seat next to the most obese, sweaty man on the whole bus. Clarisse honestly couldn't find the heart to blame her parents, they had paid for the whole trip, plus some DVD's to keep her occupied on the trip from their small rental home in Maine.

Her mind drifted to the well-watched Hetalia DVD's in her hotel room. The loveable characters, the personifications of each countries stereotype, never failed to bring a smile to her face. She loved that it was a different show than anything she had watched, and how she actually learned something from it. The cheerful North Italy, the stern Germany, the silent Japan, the childlike Russia, each character mesmerized her with the depth of their character and personality.

Inspiration struck her like lightning, and Clarisse collapsed right onto the steps leading up to the Lincoln Monument, ignoring the huffs and stares from the bystanders. As she swept her ginger hair into a loose pony-tail, her mind planned out the body positions, facial expressions, and clothing styles for each of the characters of Hetalia.

If there was one thing that Clarisse Isabelle Irvingson knew, it was that when inspiration strikes, you start drawing. No exceptions.

Yanking her large sketchbook out of a satchel bag that seemed too small to hold such a large item, she set the book aside and plunged her arm into the blue bag's depths, feeling her way along the bottom of the bag. Her bushy eyebrows inched their way closer to each other, like caterpillars, in frustration when she had yet to find her favorite mechanical pencil.

She yanked her arm out of her bag, pencil in hand, with a victory shout. Other vacationers and tourists looked at her strangely, noting her creased blue shirt with the X-Men insignia on it, paint splotched khaki capris, sloppy ginger pony-tail, and the buttons pinned to her faded blue satchel bag which sported phrases like "I haven't had my coffee this morning, don't make me kill you." "It's the WAMBULENCE!" and the largest one sported the Hetalia logo.

Clarisse ignored their stares as she flipped to a clean page in her sketchbook and began to roughly sketch out the angles for the bodies. After she finished, Clarisse moved on to adding in the actual bodies, then the clothes, then the hair, and then the faces. Once she finished that, she dove into her bag (not literally) in a frantic search for her shading pencils. After a few long minutes, and one large gulp of just-barely-warm tea, she found her pencils and proceeded to shade in shadows and creases in the characters clothing. She had been so absorbed in her drawings that she didn't seem to realize that something had changed in her surroundings.

Smiling, she pulled herself away from the sketchbook she had been glued to all morning and into the afternoon, and admired her handiwork. Each country with a distinct character had been sketched out onto the paper, the Axis Powers stood tall in the front, Italy paused in the middle of hugging Germany, who had an un-amused expression on his face, Japan standing next to the pair with his katana half-drawn. The Allies stood off to the side, America munching on a hamburger, England and France trying to kill (or seriously injure) each other, with China and his wok standing in from of Russia with his childish smile on his face and pipe clenched in his hands. The other assorted character stood off to the other side, Spain being shoved aside by Romano, Prussia getting smashed in the head by Hungary, Austria with a violin, and Canada with Kumojiro farthest from the group.

Clarisse raised her pencil to add one more little shadow to America's cowlick when an obnoxious "OHONHONHON!" filled her ears and caused her to involuntarily flail, the pencil causing a thick, black line to stretch across the drawing Clarisse had spent over a half a day working on. Bitter rage boiled inside her at the sight of the ruined image she had worked so hard on, and she turned to give the bastard a piece of her mind when she saw…

FRANCE.

xXxXxXx

Francis Bonnefoy, also known to a select few as the personification of France, was for once grateful for that control-freak Germany. After Italy's pleas for pasta had become too much for the other nation to bear, he had called a break from the World Meeting and literally dragged the smaller nation to the nearest location that sold pasta.

So now France was in break, in America's capital, and bored. Because America often hosts the World Conferences (and comes up with the stupidest ideas), France knew all of the good places that would have hot, single girls just waiting for him. Unfortunately, the Lincoln Monument was not one of them.

France sighed, giving the crowd a quick glance to see if there was anyone worth his attention. A flash of ginger caught his eye, and he made his way towards it. He took in the young woman, who was hunched over her sketchbook and oblivious to the world. He smiled, this day was looking up!

France crept closer and leaned in and whispered his classic "ohonhonhon" into her ear, but jumped back when she lashed out. The girl whipped around, fire in her emerald eyes shining past the tears that were welling up in them. France couldn't see a reason for her to cry…

"You asshole!" she screamed in his face. "I spent all day working on that picture, and because you were too damn stupid, it's ruined!" Ah. France understood now. She was an artist, and that flailing must have ruined her picture.

"But mademoiselle, I just wanted to tell you how belle you looked!" he protested in his French accent. She glared at him, giving his uniform a glance.

"Look, why don't you run back to the rest of your cosplay group. I'm not in the mood." She spat, stooping low and snatching her sketchbook off of its spot on the step and smacking him over the head with it. France let out a cry of protest.

"Ma belle! What was that for?" he cried, holding on to his bruised head and mourning his bruised ego.

"For ruining my damn Hetalia picture." she scoffed, still glaring at him while she squatted down and picked up her drawing materials and stuffed them into her satchel bag. "Now go back to your cosplay group, where ever the hell it is, and leave me alone."

After pausing to thing for a moment, the girl had opened her ego-crunching sketchbook and tore out a drawing, stuffed it in his hand, and stomped down the stairs in a huff, leaving France to wonder what had just happened to him.

Once he had regained some semblance of thought, he called after her retreating figure, "But what is your name?"

The girl spun around on her heel, ginger pony-tail smacking her face. "Clarissa Irvingson." She called over the background noise, and she disappeared into the crowd.

France stared at the spot the strange girl had disappeared from, and then glanced at the drawing in his hand, and frowned. This wasn't good at all.

He whipped out his cell phone and dialed the first number in his speed dial.

"What the hell do you want, frog?" was the greeting he received from the man on the other end of the line, his British accent tinged with annoyance.

"We have a problem."

xXxXxXx

The countries attending the World Meeting, and that one guy with the polar bear everyone kept forgetting, sat around the large table, grumbling and waiting to hear what had caused their break to be cut off early. Germany sat next to Italy, munching on some wurst he had ordered while Italy happily slurped up the spaghetti he had twirled around a fork.

France threw open the double doors dramatically and stormed into the conference room. He blew past his seat and up to the front of the room. The country's face was red from running from the Lincoln Monument to the secret meeting room below the Congress Building, and he was panting slightly.

England huffed in annoyance, and set his tea cup back into its matching saucer with a clank. "Well, frog?" the Brit demanded, "What was so bloody important that we had to cut the break short just so you could share whatever it is with us?"

"This," was all France replied as he slammed Clarissa's drawing on the table. The countries all gathered around and began to whisper as they saw themselves in the drawing.

"Woah, dude, where did you, like, get this?" America asked while munching a hamburger. England rolled his eyes at his former ward's grammer.

"A girl." France answered, still trying to catch his breath, and deciding that the crowd wasn't helping.

"Isn't it always?" Russia innocently asked, with a childish smile half-hidden in his trademark white scarf.

France glared at his former ally. "Non, she was at the Lincoln Monument. I saw her drawing and accidently scared her. She blamed me for ruining her drawing, and said something about me getting back to my cosplay group, whatever that means, and stomped off."

Japan nodded. "Yes, it would seem that she believed that you were dressing up as an anime character, even though I have yet to see an anime with a character dressed like you…"

While all of the others were bickering over what to do about the girl, Italy had approached the drawing while it was abandoned, and he noted the skill and expertise in the drawing, which must have taken a lot of time and energy. He also saw the thick black pencil line running across the drawing, and understood how the mysterious author girl must have felt when it happened.

"Ve~, this girl must be a very good artist!" Italy cooed. The countries turned to glare at the clueless country.

"Well, something must be done about this girl," England proposed. "She knows far too much to be left up to her own devices."

"Yeah! Dudes, he should, like, totally tail her, ya know, like it spy movies! We can all, like, take turns following her so she won't, like, get suspicious!"

"For once, idiot, you actually come up with a good idea." Engalnd said, glancing at the other country.

"You never told us her name, France." China spoke up, and the other personifications nodded.

"Oh, she is Clarissa Irvingson." France stated.

America concentrated hard, but paused. "France, ya know that there is, like, no regestured United States citizen named Clarissa Irvingson, right?"


	2. Meeting North Italy

The other countries stared blankly at America, who blankly stared back. He blinked a few times from behind his glasses, and when no one made a more to take their eyes off him, he frowned slightly.

"What did I do?" he asked, confused. England rolled his eyes, wondering how he could have raised such a brain-dead idiot.

"Non, I am certain that mademoiselle Clarissa is American, her accent was northern." France declared, then his face turned thoughtful. "New England, perhaps?" He raised an eyebrow at England.

England opened his mouth, but no words came out, and he kept the appearance of a fish-out-of-water for a few moments before he forced out "You bloody wanker!"

America looked perplexed. "Look, as long as I know the name of one of my citizens, I can totally locate them. And I'm totally certain that there is no one named Clarissa Irvingson that lives in New England!"

"Well, she had to come from somewhere!" Germany shouted, slamming his palms on the table and causing the other personifications to jump slightly. "She couldn't have just dropped out of the sky!"

"Well, France mentioned that she believe that he was cosplaying, perhaps she believes we are from an anime she reads. There are certain characters that resemble France, just none with his… interesting taste in clothing." Japan said. Some of the other countries nodded, because no one was willing to rule out any possibilities when it came to this mysterious artist.

Suddently, the room seemed far too quiet. Germany frowned, pondering on something.

"Where is Italy?" he asked, and as soon as the words left his mouth, the smaller nation's absence seemed far too obvious. The lack of "Ve~"'s and "PASTAAAA!"'s made the silence thundering. A single scrap of notepad paper floated on a breeze down the table, and Germany snatched the paper out of the air and scanned it's contents.

_Dear Germany,_

_Gone to get pasta and return the drawing to Clarissa Irvingson. See you later!_

_Love, Italy_

Germany's fist clenched the note, and the other personifications looked at him.

"Italy has gone to look for this Clarissa Irvingson." Germany growled. America perked up at the news.

"All right! We've got our first operative in the field!" England smacked him.

xXxXxXx

Feliciano Vargas wandered the streets of America's capital city, a take-out box filled with delicious pasta, one messed-up drawing, and his eye peeled for any sign of the mysterious Clarisse Irvingson. Italy set aside his pasta and began to work at removing the dark line, just the way his Nonno had taught him when he had ruined his first picture. After he finished, Italy gathered up his pasta and was about to head out to continue his search for France's artist when a flash of ginger hair caught his eye. Italy turned, and sure enough, he saw a young woman with ginger hair stomping through the crowd. He beamed, this spying thing America though up was easier than he thought!

"Ve~ Clarissa!" he called out. She turned, her red-rimmed emerald eyes searching the crowded street for the source of the voice. Italy plunged into the crowd and, as politely as he could, forced his way to the front of the coffee shop that she stood in front of.

"Clarissa!" he shouted, and she looked over at him, shock and surprise melding her face into a less then attractive expression, but Italy though it was cute.

"What?" she squeaked, her mind scrambling to catch up with what she was seeing. This couldn't be right, her mind must be playing a trick on her! But all manner of logic only pointed out that there was no mistaking the defiant strand of hair that curled in the side of his head, his slightly clueless aura, the smell of pasta (which she assumed was from the carry-out box in his hands). There was no mistaking that the man in front of her was none other than North Italy.

xXxXxXx

'_Oh, God, this isn't good. If he is here, and he knows my name, then does that mean that I'm in Hetalia? That can't be, it's not possible! Wait, does that mean France was hitting on me?-_ Clarissa's thoughts wer interrupted when the man who somehow knew her name poked her.

"Ve~ Are you okay, Clarissa?" the man asked in such a concerned way that she had begun to question herself on whether she knew him or not.

"H-have we met before?" she squeaked again- _God she hated that_- as her mind beat down the inner fangirl that was trying to squeal at the fact that might actually be talking to North Italy.

"Oh, no! I don't believe we have! Ve~ My name is…" he paused in the middle of the statement, as if he had forgotten his own name. "Ve~ I have it now! My name is Alfonso Rossi!"

Something inside Clarissa had deflated at the sound of his name. That meant that this wasn't Italy… She mentally scolded herself, anime characters aren't real.

"Were you going to get something?" Alfonso's rich Italian accent filled her ears. Clarissa nodded, and the Alfonso's grin grew in size.

"Ve~ Then let's go!" he said, pulling her into the little Starbucks. Clarissa giggled, he sounded like Mario! Alfonso dragged her elbow up past the line and to the front of the counter, where the cashier stood with blacant shock on his face.

"Ve~ What would you like, Clarissa?" he asked, and Clarissa pondered for a moment, scanning the menu to see if she wanted to try anything new. When nothing stuck her fancy, she turned back to the cashier.

"Could I have a small Earl Grey?" she requested, her hands moving to the front pocket of her satchel bag where her money was kept. When she looked back up, she saw the cashier putting the three dollars into the cash register, and handing Alfonso sixty-three cents in return.'

"Thank you, your order will be ready shortly." Was all the cashier said as he called out for the next in line. Clarissa stared at Alfonso, dumbfounded. He stared cluelessly ahead, oblivious to the world around him.

"Why did you do that?" Clarissa asked, looking at her new friend. He blinked a few times, then blinked some more.

"Do what?" he said in an adorably cute, clueless manner that reminded Clarissa of one specific anime character she tried so hard not to relate her new friend to.

"You bought my tea. You didn't have to, I mean, we've only just met-"Clarissa started, but Alfonso stopped her.

"No, there is a rule in my family that deals with this kind of thing." He said, that silly, clueless grin returning to his face.

"What is that rule?" Clarissa asked, honestly curious in what this mysterious rule was that had prompted this near-stranger into buying her drink.

"You never let a pretty girl buy her own food!" he said, and Clarissa flushed bright red. No one had ever called her pretty…

The tea came out at that moment, saving Clarissa from further embarrassment. Alfonso led her to an empty table by the window, and opened up his take out box of pasta, and began eating it.

When Alfonso began to ask questions about her life, she gave him vague, general answers. She wasn't quite ready to completely trust this near-stranger, no matter how nice and polite he seemed.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Alfonso got up and threw his Styrofoam container into the garbage can. He made his way back to the table, and was about to sit down again when "Mambo Italiano" began playing. Alfonso took out his phone and glanced at the caller ID, then at Clarissa, and back at the phone.

"Please excuse for a moment." Alfonso said, and without even waiting for a response, stood up and walked away. Clarissa frowned slightly, wonder what had caused her new friend's rude behavior. After a few moments, he returned to his seat across from the ginger.

"It was wonderful meeting you Clarissa, but my friend just called and he needs me to stop by his work. I'm really sorry, please don't hurt me!" he cried. Clarissa watched him with quiet confusion.

"That's fine, it was great meeting you, Alfonso." She said. The Italian immediately perked up, and grabbed a napkin, scrawling something onto it, then left the café. Clarissa looked at the napkin, and smiled when she saw that he had written his cell number on it with a little note that said "Call anytime!"

A piece of high-quality sketch paper, much like the type of paper she herself used, sat in Alfonso's spot. He was gone, and had left the paper behind for some reason. After a short internal debate, Clarissa reached across the table and snatched the drawing from its spot, turning it over to view the picture.

It was her picture of the Hetalia cast, minus the ruining pencil mark. Clarissa looked at the door Alfonso had disappeared through, and wondered

_Who exactly is he?_

xXxXxXx

Italy raced to the park across from the café that he had been sitting in before he saw Clarissa and launched himself at the taller blond nation, who sputtered in protest when people started looking. Germany had changed into a black turtleneck with khaki slacks, because an authentic World War Two uniform might stand out just a bit too much for America's spy plan. Italy, of course, had not thought that far ahead, and was still in his uniform. Good thing that looked slightly normal.

"Ve~, Germany! So good to see you! Clarissa is so nice-" Italy babbled while the larger nation de-tangled himself from the other nations hug.

"You met her? You just wander out of the meeting room with that drawing and you find her? Didn't you learn anything from your training? Never approach a possible enemy!" Germany protested, wondering how the younger nation could have found the ginger artist so fast. After detaching himself from the other nation, he glared down at the other nation.

"But Germany, she was so nice, and pretty!" Italy said, the clueless smile gracing his face again, hair curl bouncing as the pair began to walk.

"I don't care!" hissed Germany. Even as he watched Italy deflate with disappointment at his response, the other nation couldn't bring himself to care.

"You didn't tell her your real name, did you?" Germany growled. If the northern half of Italy had told the artist his real name, the whole operation America had concocted would go up in smoke.

"Nope! I told her my name was Alfonso Rossi!" Italy chirped, skipping along beside the other nation as they made their way back to the conference room.

"Good." was all Germany said, thankful that the younger nation wasn't completely stupid.

xXxXxXx

"Well, whatcha find out?" America said, leaning forward in his chair as if that would help him hear the smaller nation better.

"Ve~ I found out that she is from Maine, and that her trip here is for her birthday, and that she likes to draw!" Italy said, before zoning out into space.

"Well, that isn't very helpful information." England said, sipping another cup of tea.

"We need more information!" America cried. "Who will be totally awesome and volunteer to find her next.

Romano shoved Spain off him and growled. "I'll do it, burger bastard, but not for you or anyone else! I just want to get away from the tomato bastard."

"Alright! You'll need to give her a fake name, so think carefully! And use this-" America held up a metallic chip for all of the other personifications to see "so we can track her and listen while you talk! Cool, amiright?"

Romano swore colorfully in multiple different languages before grabbing the chip and stalking out of the conference room.

"Don't forget to use the last name Rossi!" Italy called after his retreating brother.

Whoever this chick was, she was certainly going to get a nasty surprise when she meets her next tail.

**Authors note: Yay, next chapter is up! Each chapter is going to feature one of the countries attempting to get to know Clarissa, some will like her, some will not.**

**Please review, they motivate me to write faster!**


	3. Farmers Market Arguments

**Hey, sorry for the lack of updates. I went on vacation for February break and I wasn't allowed to bring my laptop. That and writers block kept me from finishing the chapter, so I hope updates will become more regular.**

As Romano stomped out of the conference room and down the long hallway that led to the streets, the remaining nations looked at one another worriedly, each gaze daring the other to voice the question that was on every one's mind (well, except for Italy, because he was daydreaming about pasta, which is no big surprise to anyone).

England took a sip of his tea and sent the delicate cup clattering into the matching saucer. "Was it really the smartest thing to sent _him _of all people to locate Miss Clarissa Irvingson next?" the Brit wondered. The other nations nodded slowly in understanding, before sharking their heads.

America stood up and leaned forward onto the conference table and said in his usual loud, obnoxious manner, "Well, my heroic plan was to get Romano close to her, so he can slip that tracking device into her backpack! That way we will know exactly where she will be! Amiright?" (Please insert obnoxious laugh here)

Germany stood up next to America. "All right, now all we have to do is wait."

Italy chose that exact moment to snap out of his daydreams to go "Pasta?" Everyone else in the room face palmed.

xXxXxXx  
>Clarissa wandered out of the cafe she had been in with Alfonso, a dumbfounded look on her face. How had he gotten that picture? Why had he fixed it for her, when he hadn't even met her? Who <em>was<em> Alfonso Rossi? All of these questions and more buzzed in the mind of the seventeen-year old ginger, and she sighed. This was her _vacation_, and she was spending it worried about a nice Italian man who had fixed up her ruined drawing.

After wandering the streets for a while, half-warm tea in hand, drawing tucked safely into her sketchbook, Clarissa pulled out of her thoughts to find herself horribly lost and standing outside of a farmers market. Cheerful voices and delicious smells wafted towards her, the homey environment drawing her closer, a smile gracing her face as she entered.

After successfully locating a free park bench next to a cheerful, chatty vegetable seller, she set to work sketching out the scene before her. Rough outlines of vendors booths and people quickly became more detailed, and people with different personalities seemed to spring forth from her pencil. She looked up from the sketch to look for the next person to draw, and spotted a familiar face in the crowd.

"ALFONSO!"

xXxXxXx  
>Romano stomped angrily through the crowded streets of Washington, DC. It was three o'clock in the afternoon, and here he was, attempting to track down some god-forsaken teenager that was a possible threat to security. God, why had he even volunteered for this damn "spy job" of Americas?<p>

Oh yeah, to get away from the Tomato Bastard. But it doesn't mean that he has to like it!

He growled silently as he trudged down the one familiar path that existed to him in this forsaken city: the direct route to the farmers market. If he was going to be a god-damn spy, he was going to get some god-damn tomatoes!

He stomped into the market, people casting wary sidelong glances in the direction of the rampaging country. Romano glared at them all. _"What the hell are you looking at, bastardos?"_ he hissed under his breath.

The cheerful vegetable seller didn't even flinch as Romano stomped up to her stall.

"The usual, Mister Lovino?" she asked, her smile widening and voice rising an octave to cause the sugary-sweet tone of her voice to reach the level of obnoxious.

"Yeah, yeah," the country grumbled, tapping his foot impatiently. if he didn't get started soon, glancing at his watch told him that the current time was three-fifteen in the afternoon, then America would be on his back about "ruining his totally awesome spy plan".

A joyful cry of "Alfonso!" broke through the background noise of chitter-chatter, and Romano found himself face-to-face with a grinning ginger teen.

"Who the hell are you?" Romano shouted.

xXxXxXx  
>Clarissa raised an eyebrow at the rude response "Alfonso" gave her.<p>

"Ex_cu_se me?" she said, crossing her arms and glaring at him. "What the hell crawled up your ass and died? You were perfectly pleasant to me earlier." The man in question crossed his arms in turn and glared right back at Clarissa.

"That is my brother, bastardo! My name is... um... Carlo Rossi." he stuttered. Clarissa's bushy eyebrow rose a bit higher. The farm stand manager, who held a bag filled with the freshest tomatoes for her costamer, paused in confusion.

"But, mister, I thought your name was Lovino!" she cried shrilly, her voice squeaking as it tried to keep up with the ever-rising pitch that she was trying to achive.

Carlo looked like a rabid dog caught in a corner, there was a wild edge to his gaze that seemed to sudgest that he was lying. _But to who?_ Clarissa thought.

"My name isn't Lovino!" Carlo spat at the farmstand worker, who was at loss for works and looked like she was about to cry.

"Hey! Don't talk to her like that! You are the one who gave her a fake name!" Clarissa spat right back at the rude Italian twin with the bad attitude and the strange hair curl on the left side of his head.

"Who the hell do you think you are, bastardo, the hero?" Carlo shouted, drawing the attention of a small crowd, who gathered with hopes of seeing this petite, fiery-haired teenage take down the rude, good-looking Italian.

"Well, yeah, I guess I am if it means I can take you down!" growled Clarissa, her glare and hatred increasing, her emerald eyes glowing as if they had been set on fire.

Carlo, being the true Italian that he is, knew when there was going to be a fight. And being Italian, he was going to run like hell in the other direction from this scary-looking ginger teen.

"Fine, bastardo!" Carlo shouted, slamming money down on the counter and yanking the bag of tomatoes out of the sniffling girl's hands. He deliberately walked into Clarissa before stomping off into the sea of people, right when the police arrived.

"We heard there was a fight going on," the first officer, a burly young man who looked a bit like a rookie asked.

Clarissa smiled, her anger dissipating as soon as Alfonso's rude twin had disappeared into the crowd, and answered the officer. "There isn't a problem here, officers. There was just an asshole that needed yelling at."

The second officer, and over-weight cop with balding red hair that only left one tuft sticking out from under his hat in teh style of a cowlick, looked confused. "What do you mean by that, miss..."

"Clarissa. Clarissa Irvingson," she answered, still smiling kindly at the officers. "I'll answer all of your questions."

xXxXxXx  
>Romano stayed at the edge of the crowd, the ginger's voice floating over all of commotion of the gathered crowd.<p>

_"Clarissa. Clarissa Irvingson"_ Good. That was all Romano needed to know. He plucked the top tomato out of his paper bag cradled in his arms and bit into it. Good. His job was done.

To be honest, he wasn't even sure if that bitch teenager was even the girl he was supposed to be freaking following. His stupid _bastardo _of a brother has said that she was a nice, pretty girl. Well, the chick he found might have been pretty to Feli (but almost every woman is to him), but she sure as hell wasn't nice!

Stomping through the streets of DC, and almost bowling over some little old ladies, Romano fumed at the world. Reaching the secret entrance to the World Conference room, the raging nation glanced around and entered.

in his mind he declared that there was no way in hell the Tomato Bastard was going to eat the tomatoes he had with him. No. Freakin. Way. In. Hell.

xXxXxXx  
>Clarissa stomped out of the farmers market after her story was confirmed in a cloud of anger.<p>

"That stupid... that... that _bastardo! _I liked his twin better!" she growled to herself, and glancing at her watch, revealed the time to be almost four o'clock in the afternoon. "Damn it! I've only got a few hours before the exhibit on Princess Anastasia closes!"

Hailing a cab, which had appeared at her side in moments, she hopped into the air-conditioned cab of the taxi.

"The Smithsonian, please." she requested, and teh scruffy looking man with the cigar nodded before speeding into Washington DC traffic with a screech of rubber. Clarissa sighed, leaning her head on her hand.

She had always loved a good mystery, whether it be Sherlock Holmes or something in real life, she was amazed. The lost princess Anastasia was no exception, and that exibit closed before all of the others, so that was going to be her first stop so she could have plenty of time to look over the artifacts and portraits, but Carlo's stupidity caused her to loose almost an hour answering questions with the police!

"'Ey, kid, we're here." the driver said gruffly. "That'll be $17.50." Clarissa counted out the exact change and handed it over before climbing out of the cab and running to the ticket book.

The teenager was chomping on gum, headphone blaring a punk-rockish music that Clarissa could hear even through the glass.

"Whatcha want?" he said, yanking off his headphones so they lay around his neck.

"Is the Anastasia exhibit still open?" Clarissa asked, tapping her finger restlestly against her paint-stained khaki pants.

"Gimme a sec." was all he said before swiveling around and searching the computer that was behind him.

"You're in luck, ya still have an hour before it closes." he said, chomping hard on his gum.

"Oh, thank you! I'd like a two-day ticket so that I can come back tomorrow and see everything else, please." Clarissa requested, and the teenager shook his head, his black hipster-style ball cap almost falling off.

"You aren't from here, are ya? The Smithsonian doesn't have tickets. Ya better hurry, the museum closes at 5:30." he said, smirking at her so that his lip rings glittered in the afternoon sun.

Clarissa was unamused. "Thanks, have a nice day." she replied curtly before entering the museum and grabbing a map.

"I'm going to get so lost..." she groaned.

xXxXxXx

"So the tracker chip is in her bag, amiright?" America grilled Romano on his encounter with the "possible threat to security"

"Yeah, burger bastard, it is." quipped Romano before sinking his teeth into the final tomato, watching with a smirk as Spain's face morphed from a hopeful to kicked puppy expression. "I never want to see her again."

America's excited smiled never wavered. "All right, who's next to go see what we can learn about this girl!"

"Why don't you go yourself?" Russia asked, head tilted slightly.

"Dude, I'm the one running this opperation. You guys just do what I say!" America shouted, slaming his hands on the table. "And you are our next opperative!"

Russia looked confused. "Who, me?"

"Yeah, you! Clarissa is in the Anastasia section of the Smithsonian, and you would fit right in!"

"All right, I will go." Russia stood, causing most of the countries to shrink further into their seats. "I want to see this exhibit for myself. Goodbye!" the large, terrifying country strode out of the room.

England sipped his tea. He almost pitied this girl.

_Almost._

**Well, there's Romano's chapter! I hope you guys are enjoying the story and don't think Clarissa is a Mary-Sue.**

**Please review!**


	4. Smithsonian Rambling with Russia

**Well, here's the next chapter. Hope you like it!**

Romano glared at America. "_Bastardo_, we want her watched, not killed!"

America looked puzzled. "Dude, Russia isn't going to kill her! You're totally overthinking this! Russia is the perfect operative for the Russian section of the Smithsonian, I mean, he is Russian after all."

Germany leaned back in his chair. "I agree with Romano,"

"Don't agree with me Potato Bastard!"

Germany paused, and continued. "What if Fraulein Irvingson angers him in some way? Russia is not known for his people skills."

England walked over to the coffee table and scowled when he realized that all of the Earl Grey was gone. "And we also haven't covered the topic of Belarus. I saw her earlier today in the city."

The nations shivered. Belarus was Russia's crazy-ass little sister hell-bent on marrying him, and she believed that anyone who talked to him was a threat to their "love". Russia was creepy enough on his own to ward off most people who wished to interact with him, but his sister was the icing on the cake, the final nail in the coffin that was Russia's ability to make friends.

People valued their lives more than friendship with a creepy, childish man.

"Well, that complicates things." said France.

"Brilliant observation, frog."

xXxXxXx

Clarissa stood in front of a glass case, admiring the old-fashioned black-and-white portrait of teh lost duchess Anastasia. She sighed; _I wonder what was going through her mind when the picture was taken. She couldn't have been older than eight. I wonder what happened to her..._

xXxXxXx

A shiver shot down the spine of everyone in that certain exhibit as a large man in a tan trench coat entered the room and looked around, his violet eyes scanning the room with a child-like gleam before they settled on Clarissa, who happened to be in the back corner of the room.

He strode forward, long off-white scarf trailing behind him dramatically, hiding his neck and lower face, ashy hair glistening like fallen snow in the dim lights of museum. Everyone the man passed cringed away, but he paid them no mind. His mind was focused on one person in the room at that moment, Clarissa.

Most of the occupants of the room pitied the teenager.

xXxXxXx

Clarissa fought the instinct to shiver as she felt another person at her side. She looked up and faced the childish face of yet another Hetalia look-alike. _Great. How come DC has such great cosplayers? _A little voice, an illogical one though Clarissa, whispered that perhaps this was one coincidence too many, and perhaps that something else was afoot.

"You are all right, da?" the voice of the man asked, his English tainted with a Russian accent and the use of the Russian word at the end of the sentence put Clarissa on edge. _This guy is creepy... No! Remember the presentation at school; give a person three chances before you judge them. _

Clarissa smiled nervously up at the man. "Y-yeah, I'm fine, sorry about that. I've had the strangest day today."

He tilted his head and smiled, the movement chilling the room by several degrees. "Oh, really?"

Clarissa smiled back, trying not to let her fear show. "Yeah, but it's over now." She turned her attention back to the photo in front of her.

The man followed her gaze, and it turned sad for a moment before it returned to his happy look. "You like Anastasia, da?" he asked.

Clarissa looked up, a little surprised that he hadn't left. "Yeah, I've always found it interesting that someone so young could survive such a catastrophe. You see, I love all kinds of conspiracy theories, but the Anastasia one has interested me for as long as I could remember, after seeing the Disney movie when I was younger, I liked how they kept it relatively reliable when it came to the history, even with the wizard-" As if snapping back to reality, Clarissa felt dread building in her alongside of embarrassment. _Oh, God, I just met this guy and I'm blabbering about how much I like conspiracy theories._

"I-I'm sorry, I'm rambling on, and you probably don't care, mister-" Clarissa started, and her stomach dropped to her feet when she realized that she didn't even know the man's name.

"Nicolai. I am Nicolai Bragin." he said, smiling as if Clarissa hadn't just completely embarrassed herself. "I don't mind your rambling. It was interesting, da?"

Clarissa smiled slightly. "Well, Nicolai, you remind me of an anime character, he likes to imagine people's demises while they are talking. You look a lot like him." If something fishy was going on like that little illogical voice in the back of her head was telling her, then she wasn't going to give anything away.

Nicolai smile turned a little creepy. "I do that to most on my... coworkers. But you are actually interesting, surprisingly, so I didn't imagine you dying."

"Thanks... I guess." was all Clarissa said.

Nicolai glanced at the wall clock, and Clarissa followed his gaze.

"Five twenty-five? I'll never get out in time..." Clarissa moaned. It had taken her ten minutes to find the Russian exhibit in the back of the museum, and it would take her even longer to find her way back out.

Nicolai smiled and dropped a large, heavy, gloved hand on Clarissa's shoulder and began guiding her out of the Russian exhibit and down the hallway, made a right, a left, two rights, and out the front doors of the Smithsonian.

Clarissa blinked rapidly, attempting to regain her sight as her eyes adjusted from the dim lighting of the museum to the bright, brilliant sunlight. Nicolai smiled down at her, not showing the slightest hint of being uncomfortable.

"Thank you." Clarissa said, smiling weakly and secretly rejoiced being outside of the museum, which had taken on an uncomfortably cramped feeling once Nicolai had entered the room.

"It is not a problem." Nicolai replied with that creepy smile. The larger man suddenly froze, and Clarissa suddenly had a feeling that they were being watched.

"I must be going now." was all Nicolai said before running away and jumping in the nearest cab and speeding off.

"Huh." Clarissa spoke out loud to herself. "I wonder what got his panties in a twist." She shrugged, and began walking, that feeling of being watched never leaving her.

xXxXxXx

Russia nervously glanced out the rear-view window of the taxi. This wasn't good, not at all. Belarus was here, she was following him. That was enough to terrify him, but he saw no sign of her out the back window.

"Yer all right, man?" the cabbie asked. Russia smiled, not a falsely-nice smile that he had used with Clarissa, but a menacing, deadly smile that caused the cabbie to freeze up and turn his attention back to the streets.

"I am fine." Russia replied. With no sign of Belarus following him, he relaxed a fraction. What was he to tell that troublesome capitalistic brat America? He had only found out that the girl liked Anastasia, conspiracy theories, and that she was reminded of an anime character when she saw him. Not much more information to go on.

_Perhaps another operative will be necessary. I, for one, will not be leaving the conference room for a while._ Russia thought. Then another thought occurred to him.

_Belarus could be on the roof of the taxi._

Russia nearly screamed at that thought.

xXxXxXx

Clarissa quickly became suspicious when that feeling of being followed never left the back of her mind. In fact, it had only worsened since Nicolai had left. The crowded streets seemed too claustrophobic for Clarissa, and she quickly changed paths and entered a twenty-four hour convenience store, unassumingly turning her gaze in the direction in which she had come from, searching for any strange figures in the crowd. Her heart plummeted.

A young woman about the age of twenty with platinum-blond hair tied back in a bow was walking towards the convenience store, her delicate hand sliding up her Alice-in-Wonderland look-alike dress and withdrawing a single knife.

Turning to the young lady behind the check-out counter, Clarissa hissed "Do you have a storage closet?"

The young lady looked bored. "Yep, we do."

"Give me the key." Clarissa demanded, a sidelong glance showing that the anime character from any Hetalia fan's nightmares approaching the door.

"Now why would I do that?" the counter lady asked, chomping on a piece of gum.

"She is going to kill me, and probably you, if you don't give it to me." Clarissa hissed, and the young lady handed her a single key with a shaking hand. "Thank you. Now run!" Clarissa ordered as she bolted to the back of the store and shakily unlocked the door, entering the closet and slamming the door behind her.

Clarissa staggered as the scent of powerful cleaning detergents hit her like a truck, but plowed over to the back of the closet and hid behind bottles of bleach.

"Little girl, I know you're in there!" Belarus called. "Open this door so I can kill you."

Clarissa nearly died right then and there as she dug out the napkin Alfonso had left her and her cell phone. This was one coincidence too many, and she needed answers.

And damn it all to hell, 911 wouldn't believe her!

"N-no thank you." Clarissa stammered.

"Big Brother is mine; we are destined to become one!" Belarus screeched.

"Who are you talking about?" Clarissa shakily demanded.

"Big Brother Russia! You were trying to steal him from me! Open this damn door this instant so you can die!"

Russia? _RUSSIA? _"That man I met was named Nicolai Bragin! You must be mistaken!" Clarissa called. She only needed to buy herself a few more minutes she told herself as she shakily dialed the number written down/

"Foolish girl, his name is Ivan Braginski!" Scratching was heard outside the door, and the ringing of the phone seemed to last forever.

"Ve~ hello?" Alfonso's clueless voice answered.

'Alfonso, if that even is your name, you need to listen!" Clarissa hissed into the phone.

"Who is that?" an unknown speaker on Alfonso's line asked.

"It's Clarissa!" Alfonso happily said. Clarissa heart pounded in her ears, the scratching was getting louder and Belarus had begun to chant "Die die die!"

"Put it on speaker phone, bastardo!" Carlo shouted. Clarissa couldn't wait anymore.

"Shut up, every one of whoever the hell is on the other end of this phone call! I am trapped in a closet in a convenience store with a crazy lady trying to kill me on the other side! Please, you got to help-"

CRASH!

The door had splintered under the kick of the crazy lady, and Clarissa dropped the cell phone.

"You will not get in the way of Big Brother and my love anymore."

And Clarissa screamed.

xXxXxXx  
><em> Five Minutes Ago<em>

"So what you're saying is that we have nothing?" America shouted. Russia smiled at him.

"Indeed. The only new information that is useful is that she relates me to an anime character." Russia replied.

Japan nodded. "I am unaware of any anime's that have a character in anyway similar to you."

Russia's smile grew a fraction of an inch. "That is good."

America stood up, knocking over his chair in the process. "How is that good? We have nothing to go on!"

Italy's phone began to belt out a song in Italian. The clueless nation answered the phone with a childish "Ve~ Hello?"

"Alfonso, if that even is your name, you need to listen!" Clarissa voice hissed in his ear.

Germany noticed Italy's cell phone was out.

"Who is that?" he asked, nodding at America to begin tapping into Italy's phone. The other nation returned the favor and activated the tracer signal.

"It's Clarissa!' Italy said with a smile. Romano silently fumed.

"Put it on speaker phone, bastardo!" he shouted at Italy, who complied.

"Shut up, every one of whoever the hell is on the other end of this phone call! I am trapped in a closet in a convenience store with a crazy lady trying to kill me on the other side! Please, you got to help-" A clattering sound filled the dead-silent room.

_"You will not get in the way of Big Brother and my love anymore."_ Belarus hissed, and a pain-filled echoes through the room, then a harsh series of beeps.

The line was dead.

**Well, that's all for now. Mwahaha please review!**


	5. It all hits the fan

The nations in the conference room took a moment to stare blankly at Italy's cell phone, before Germany jumped into action.

"We cannot let this girl die. She is our only source in this information leak, and we need to question her." he said. the other countries nodded slowly.

"Dude, one problem with that plan. She's half-way across DC, locked in a closet with belarus."

Italy's worried smile fell. "But we have to-a help her!"

Russia spoke up as well. "for once I agree with the cowardly idiot. We will not let this girl die."

England thought for a moment. "Perhaps I could use magic to transport her here?"

"No way, dude!" America shouted. "You don't have any magic!"

"I do indeed have magic!" England shouted back at his former charge before stomping out of his seat and drawing an intricate-looking circle with words in another language on the floor next to the table.

"I'll assume that Miss Irvingson's phone call was recorded?" England asked.

America rolled his eye. "Dude, why wouldn't it be?"

"Good, I can use her voice to summon her." England said before seizing america's laptop (despite his loud protesting) and played the audio recording. Placing the laptop at the heart of the intricate circle, England donned a billowing black cloak that he seemingly pulled out of thin air. Channeling his magic, the rest of the countries watched as the chalk lines of the circle began to glow with a bright flash of white light as England chanted in a language unlike any other that existed on earth. England's chanting began to speed up as a form began to appear in the center of the circle.

As the spell came to a close, the figure in the center of the circle collapsed like a marionette whose strings had been cut. England stumbled backwards, exhausted after the impressive magical feat he had just performed. America eyed the unconscious figure with apprehension.

"Dude, are you sure you summoned the right chick?" America asked, and Russia froze momentarily, fearing that England might have summoned Belarus instead of Clarissa. But glancing at the figure in the center of the circle, it became clear to all the present nations that the summoned girl was neither Clarissa nor was it Belarus.

The girl wore the same clothes as Clarissa, but was by no means the Clarissa Irvingson the personifications had been stalklin- tracking. They were totally tracking her. This girl had long, auburn-brown hair with olive-toned skin. Italy walked closer to the girl, smudging some of the chalk marks on the floor.

Glancing at the bag lying next to the girl, Italy reached down and pulled out a thick sketchbook. A sturdy piece of paper fluttered down to the ground. Bending down and examining the contents of the paper, he turned to the rest of the personification.

"Ve~ This is-a Clarissa," said Italy, showing his friends the sketch of the personifications that had prompted the hunt for the mysterious girl.

"That is impossible, little Italy. You must be mistaken," Russia said, glancing at the brunette on the floor.

"The commie bastards right, Italy. You said it yourself, dude, the chick we want is a ginger." said America, grimacing at the thought that he had just agreed with Russia.

Italy opened his mouth to protest, but the girl blinked a few times and groaned. Italy turned around and smiled brightly.

"Ve~ Hi! Are you-a okay?" Italy eagerly asked. The girl looked surprised.

"A-Alfonso? W-what? Where am I?" the girl asked, her chocolate colored eyes questioning.

"Who are zou?" asked Germany, butting into the conversation. The girl's eyes narrowed.

"Who are _you?"_ the girl asked, pushing herself into an upright position and raising a questioning eyebrow.

Germany sputtered for a few moments, causing the girl to grin. "Not used to people questioning you, huh?" she said, before turning to Italy "Who is this guy, Alfonso?"

Italy's bright smile faltered. "My name isn't-a really Alfonso, Clarissa..."

The girl who claimed to be Clarissa looked shocked, her voice wavering as she tried to keep her emotions under control. "W-what?"

"My name is-a really Feliciano Vargas." Italy said. Clarissa struggle to her feet, and as she wobbled, Italy reached out to steady her. She withdrew from his grasp.

"Clari-" Italy started, hurt that his new friend was acting this way.

"I can't believe this!" Clarissa screamed, covering the hurt with a rush of anger. "You lied the entire time! I thought that it was just luck that I met such a nice guy, but you really didn't care, did you? I thought that I might finally have a friend, and that turns out to be a lie as well!" By this point, tears were dripping down Clarissa's face. She had honestly thought that he had wanted to be her friend, but even that was too good to be true.

"Clarissa-" Italy tried again.

"Save it." the brunette spat before turning to stomp out of the room.

The nations could only watch as the girl turned away, only to come face-to-face with her changed appearance. Clarissa raised a shaky hand to touch her cheek, as if trying to reassure herself that this wasn't real.

"What the hell did you do to me?"

xXxXxXx

_Oh my God oh my God this is crazy, this can't be happening this is all a dream_ ran through Clarissa's mind as she stared at the impossible reflection in the mirror, horror-stricken as she watched the girl in the mirror mimik her movements. Alfonso- or whoever the hell he was- approached her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Clarissa-" he started for the third time. Clarissa slapped away his hand, turning her accusing glare towards all of the present occupiers.

"I can't believe this! You lied, and you were all freaking stalking me!" screamed Clarissa, burying her hands into her head and pulling, as if she pulled hard enough it would return to its original color.

The blond guy with the freaky cowlick approached her like she was a rabid dog, "Dudette, take a chill pill-"

"DON'T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!" roared Clarissa. With a second glance, she took in the worn bomber jacket and glasses, her mind automatically drawing conclusions. "Alfred F. Jones" she hisses, watching his face as it morphed into a mask of shock.

"You lied to me, all of you, lied and stole away my freaking identity! I HATE YOU!" Clarissa screamed, sprinting away from the mirror and snatching up her bag and sketchbook before making a beeline for the door.

The prick with the slicked back hair, Ludwig Beilschmidt, followed her, grabbing her upper arm in a firm grip.

"You cannot leave-" he started, planting his feet in the shaggy carpet of the conference room.

"DON'T YOU TOUCH ME!" Clarissa screamed, whirling around, her fist making contact with his nose. The impact didn't appear to have physically damaged him, but the shock of receiving such a blow sent him stumbling back a few inches, his grip on Clarissa instinctively slackening.

She wrenched her arm out of the loosened grip and sprinted out of the room, the tears from the fractures in her hand and from the betrayal of her "friend" and from everything that happened dripping down her face, but she didn't dare stop running.

That is, until she ran into someone.

xXxXxXx

The pale blond hair coupled with kind violet eyes should have alerted her of his identity, even without the tell-tale spiral curl and polar bear. Clarissa looked up at him before stumbling on her way

"I-I'm sorry!" she choked out as she stumbled away, but a soft grip held her in place. This wasn't like the prick's touch grip.

"Are you alright?" Clarissa had to strain to hear the man's soft voice over the rush of the DC crowds.

After a few moments, Clarissa bowed her head and let the tears stream down her face as she cradled her fractured hand. "No."

The man placed a hand on her shoulder, and Clarissa had to blink a few times before she could fully see him again, and even then he was still a little see through.

"Come on, lets get you something to drink," he said before leading her into a little hole-in-the-wall cafe and ordering her some hot chocolate "because hot chocolate helps everything" he had said.

Clarissa wasn't really paying attention. She snapped back to reality when the nice man sat down and handed her the hot chocolate.

"What's bothering you?" he asked, and Clarissa looked up at him.

And her whole story came tumbling out. "I'm on a vacation for my birthday, and I was drawing a picture of some anime characters, and then a creepy cosplayer came up and made me ruin it, and then I met a nice guy in a cafe and he had the picture I had given to the cosplayer, but it was fixed, and then I got in an argument with an asshole over his attitude, and then I met this creepy guy at the museum, and then this crazy little sister tried to kill me, and then I woke up in a room and I looked completely different and then I realized they were actually the anime character I was drawing and then it all went to hell." she finished lamely, before gasping for breath.

The man looked a little lost, but then realization dawned on him. "You're Clarissa Irvingson, eh?"

Clarissa froze. Great. Another character. Slurping down the last of the hot chocolate, she stumbled up and ran out of the cafe, cradling her throbbing hand.

Leaving poor Canada to wonder what had just happened.

xXxXxXx

"Well, that could have gone better." England noted, sipping a fresh cup of Earl Grey. His mood hadn't improved though, that brat did not apreciate the fact that he had single handedly saved her life!

"Briliant observation, Iggy, but onto other, more important topics, like how did the dudette know my name?" America said, rolling his eyes, before turning to Italy.

"I don't-a know!" cried Italy, waving a little white flag he'd made out of a napkin and a pencil shortly after Clarissa had made a run for it.

Germany facepalmed.

Japan looked at America. "She said that we were from an anime. But there is no anime that I know of that features us as characters."

"This is-a so confusing!" Italy wailed, and to his surprise, some of the countries nodded.

_"A PIZZA HUT, A PIZZA HUT, KENTUCKY FRIED CHICKEN AND A PIZZA HUT!" _sang America's cell phone. England rolled his eyes at the choice of ringtone.

"The Hero speaking!" America shouted into his cell phone. The other present personifications heard soft-spoken mumbles from the phone.

"YOU WHAT?" shouted America, causing Italy to jump slightly. "Dude, that's awesome!" America continued, an excited gleam lighting up his eyes. "Bring her back here so we can interrogate her!"

The gleam left his eye and his wide smile fell. "What do you mean you lost her?"

After a few minutes of discussion, America hung up on the person on the other end of the call.

"Dudes, it looks like we're back to square one."

**I am so sorry for the lack of updates, I'm not quite sure where to go with this story. Here are some of the options I'm going to let you vote on:**

**A) Clarissa avoids the personifications for a few chapters before telling them her story.  
>B) England accidentally made Clarissa a personification.<strong>  
><strong>C) Clarissa is actually a personification sent to her dimension by her citizens to keep the nation hidden.<strong>

**Please vote and review!**


	6. Authors Note

I'm so, so sorry about the lack of updates. Due to life and a massive case of writers block, I'm going to have to put this story on hold until I can get everything worked out.

Again, I'm so sorry. Just be patient please! ~Pixie


	7. NOTICE

Hello readers. I regret to inform you that this story is now on an indefinite hiatus because I have too much to do and not enough hours in the day to get them done. I promise that I'll start writing again as soon as possible!

If you don't mind voting on the most recent pole regarding this story (found on my profile), it would be a big help!

Thank you for your understanding!


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